


Hello, Neighbor.

by MonsterParade



Category: Over the Garden Wall (Cartoon)
Genre: Other, beastnoch, dumb gay eldritch psychopomps, monster smut, not literally though, the beast is a schoolgirl and enoch is one sexy balloon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-20
Updated: 2016-11-15
Packaged: 2018-07-16 03:43:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,985
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7250614
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MonsterParade/pseuds/MonsterParade
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Beast tries to mimic a human, Enoch grows a pumpkin in the snow, and they both learn what those antlers are really good for.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. 1

Laid back in the hayloft, the Beast of the Winter Wastes stared up at the rafters, contemplating. 

Pottsfield. Warm earth. Hay, such as he was lying in. Corn, and pumpkins, and wholesome goodwill, reeking of something rich and sweet and decadent...the thought of silken ribbons mercilessly teased at his mind. He grumbled, and shook his heavy head, antlers catching straw and scattering it onto the floor far below. 

Enoch. The Mayor of Pottsfield. Beast couldn't get him out of his head. That maypole, with that false smile and those neighborly words, hiding true intentions, whatever they might have been, behind cornsilk and the scent of caramel. Hidden far away from Pottsfield, but in a barn not unlike their own, Beast continued to vehemently deny what burned him to the very tips of his antlers. 

He was smitten. Oh yes, like a schoolgirl, for that Mayor of Pottsfield. Enoch could never know, of course, and so Beast simply had to hide, and wait for these unfamiliar feelings to dissipate. Which, they would. Had to. He was sure of it. 

Beast distractedly grasped at a handful of hay, and ripped it up between his fingers as he fumed and struggled. In all his years (and there had been MANY), never had he been so inconvenienced by his own person, so humiliated. The great and terrible Beast, the Death of Hope, personification of the forest itself, had been reduced to wiggling in a hayloft, by what? A *pumpkin*.

Unforgivable. 

And so was what he was about to do. 

This was damnable, at the very least. Abhorrent. So disgustingly...human. It made him itch to think about, and he had to force away the urge to scratch at his own bark, as though, in peeling it away, he might release whatever foul spirit had so intoxicated him.

Instead, he rolled over, onto his side. With his antlers, it was a rather awkward task, uncomfortable but possible, and he had to twist his neck around a bit too much to make it work, leaving half of his face pressed into the hay. It smelled like Enoch. Oh, gods, that was almost worse. 

The barn door was bolted. He'd made sure of that. No one could get in, no human, anyway, and Enoch was miles and miles away, surely oblivious to Beast's inner turmoil. But still, this was so- so *raw*, and exposing, that he simply couldn't bear to face the door. Lest someone be outside of it. (He'd promptly bury any witnesses, but that was beside the point. It was the possibility of the thing.)

His fingers twitched. He was burning, like the lantern.

"Damn you all to the dirt," he said quietly to no one, and slipped his fingers under his fur, feeling the pockmarked wood underneath the 'cloak'. Beast had never thought of himself as someone particularly desirable. In fact, he'd never thought of it at all. He had always been straightforward, single-minded. Feed the lantern. He'd never seen the point of searching for companionship when he was perfectly happy on his own, thank you very much, and companionship like HUMANS did it was even worse. 

His fingers found a splinter. Pinched it off, and continued along. 

But Enoch had changed everything. Just a few weeks ago, he'd found a pumpkin of all things growing in the deepest snowy woods. Some harvest god's idea of a prank, to be certain, but even the thought of it made him shiver, just a little. What it could represent...

The Beast gave a little jerk of his head. Enough. He was prattling on to himself for no reason, delaying the act that was delaying *him* in the first place, and if he wanted to be himself again by dusk, he simply had to get it over with. Be mechanical about it, and straightforward. But...he wasn't really sure where to go from here. His roving hands hesitated. He was the last creature in existence that would have wasted his own time by feeling himself up for kicks, and in fact, he wasn't even certain that any part of him was sensitive enough to get this job done. He was not built like a living thing. 

Experimentally, he moved his hands lower, palms down, fingers spread. Mostly smooth wood. A bump or a ridge, here and there. His (approximation of a) stomach and thighs yielded nothing but a slight tickling sensation, and in an act of faint desperation, he slipped a hand between his legs, his eyes wide and white and ringed with blue. 

He found nothing. Unsurprising. 

The Beast heaved a sigh. He was almost relieved. If he'd turned out to be even more anatomically similar to a human, he might have died of embarrassment, right there in the loft.

Now, on a whim, he moved the offending hand back up, and let it rest on his fur for a moment before he reached higher and grasped an antler at the base. Hm. Well, maybe...there was a twinge of...something. He was suddenly intrigued. A loose, languid twist brought forth more feelings of *something*, and Beast exhaled a breath he didn't need, keeping his eyes very much open and his wits about him. 

This was all for Enoch. And what he would have done, for Enoch...

Had he possessed a true mouth, he might have bitten his lip. My, my, the image of Enoch in his mind did add a little something to this, didn't it? Not that the maypole he was imagining was truly Enoch, but the Mayor's true form was something far more abstract and difficult to picture, just as was the Beast's. Hah, hah. Who knew? Maybe one day, their true forms could find a way to mesh, a sort of horizontal tango, in a very non-euclidean style. 

Beast scratched his fingers down the smooth base of his antler, and groaned. Yes, if that wasn't an idea. Maybe that was what Enoch had been insinuating with that pumpkin in the woods. Beast wasn't even sure, at this point, if he'd be able to say no. 

This mockery of human behavior was, interestingly enough, starting to fall into a comfortable sort of rhythm, and Beast picked up the pace with a grunt, moving his other hand up into the action and stroking both antlers, in tandem, from root to tip. A horrible feeling had begun to bloom, the same sort of feeling that singed him when Enoch would wind a ribbon around his shoulders, or touch his back, and he desperately wanted to be over and done with this, and never have to do it again. 

From the horrific human displays that he'd accidentally observed over his thousands of years, he knew there was supposed to be a very obvious end to this act, and it was usually a messy one. He'd no idea what would happen when he met that end, or if it would happen at all, but he was distantly glad that the family who had owned this barn had all already been planted. He didn't need anyone finding any leftover evidence of this carnal act. 

The Beast allowed his eyes to droop closed. A small sliver of white was all that remained, and all he could now see was hay, golden like the wheat fields he'd been spending so much time in lately. Wheat, and pumpkins, and Enoch, Enoch, Enoch. He wished Enoch would do this to him. Involuntarily, Beast tossed his head and groaned weakly at the effect the conjured image had. As the maypole, Enoch could easily reach him from the floor of the barn, and he had enough streamers to restrain the Beast if he so pleased, to pin him down in that sweetly forceful way and explore the oil-blackened wood of his body as it had never been explored before. The thought was unreasonably alluring. 

His body was beginning to burn. It felt like the start of a crescendo, the first embers of a fire, and Beast did not slow his movements, recognizing what could only be the beginning of the end. It was almost over. He was...almost...finished...

 

KNOCK.

 

KNOCK.

 

The Beast completely froze. His mind was a tangled, blazing mess, and his fingers were slicked with oil he couldn't identify the source of. No one could see him like this.

He kept as still and silent as an icy grave. 

"Hello? Are you in there, neighbor?"


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Greedy Beast.

No. 

NO. 

That wasn't possible. Enoch didn't leave Pottsfield. COULDN'T leave Pottsfield. He had to be imagining things. 

"Beast?" the voice rang out again, and its tones were unmistakable, sounding too much like old nights spent together over lantern-light and cider that couldn't be drunk. Slowly, so as not to make a sound, the Beast lowered his hands from his antlers, and gingerly wiped them on his fur, trying to calm himself while his eyes darted around the room. Alright. The only door was bolted. Heavy wood. That was good. Enoch was nothing but straw and tassels, there was certainly no way for him to open it. 

There was a small, single window, high, high up...which the Beast had neglected to close. He eyed it for a moment with some dismay before he rose to his feet, unsteadily, and breezed down from the hayloft, landing without a sound. He gusted over to the door. 

"...Enoch. This is...unprecedented." he finally replied, raising his voice to be heard through the wood. He was hesitant to say anything more. He just wanted Enoch to LEAVE. Why, in fact, was he here? What in all of the worlds could have driven him to leave his beloved Pottsfield and seek him out, on this very day, and at THIS very moment? It was simply unfair. On the other side of the door, he could hear the mayor chuckle.

"I know, I know. But neighbor, whatever are you doing in that barn? I expected I would find you out and among the trees, hunting down some fresh, new souls for those Edelwoods of yours." 

A rustle from outside. The door creaked slightly. Beast tensed. 

"What are *you* doing here? I was under the impression that you were tethered to Pottsfield in some way." he said shortly. It was highly unpleasant to have Enoch so nearby at the moment, separated by only a few inches of dead oak. It brought back to mind his so very recent daydreams, and made him fidget, like someone had lit a fire under his bark. 

"Well, I came to check on you!" Enoch exclaimed, and the Beast paused, tilting his head curiously. 

"...Explain."

"You'd never guess, but I just happened to run into that Woodsman of yours on the border of my land," Enoch began, and the Beast got a sinking feeling that he might be in for a rather long-winded explanation. 

"And?" he prompted, growing impatient to hurry this along. 

"And, I struck up a friendly conversation! Speaking of, he's not much of a talker, isn't he? They do say that pets take after their masters." 

Beast closed his eyes. 

"*Please*, get to the point." he bit out. 

Rather than reply straight away, Enoch hummed something whimsical for a few moments, and the door creaked again, this time more perceptively. Was he trying to get in? Swiftly, the Beast turned his side to the door and leaned all of his weight against it, digging his heels into the ground. Just in case. 

"...And what he told me, Beast, is that you haven't been feeling well." Enoch finally said. "Said you've been acting all manner of strange, and suggested I might pay you a visit, make sure everything's...all right?" 

Enoch's tone had turned musical as he now spoke, and the Beast recognized at once the sound of the Mayor's hunting. That was the tone he took when he was trying to distract someone, lull them into complacency, soft like the footsteps of that cat-skin he sometimes wore. 

The Beast spotted the ribbon as soon as it slipped under the door. 

THUNK. 

With a quick little twirl, he lifted his foot and planted it firmly atop the invading streamer, pinning it to the floor. If he wasn't mistaken, it had been headed for the latch.

"Ouch." Enoch said cheerfully. 

The Beast was going to have a very long talk with his lantern-bearer after this. Dragging him into this mess. 

"I am fine." the Beast assured him stiffly. "The Woodsman seems determined to cause me trouble. He'll have to be planted soon. My apologies, for getting you wrapped up in this."

"You're hiding something, neighbor. Won't you open this door? We can talk it out, just the two of us." 

Now, the wooden door began to crackle alarmingly, and the Beast felt a brief, bright surge of panic, stepping hurriedly backwards lest the thing blow open in pieces. Something had certainly caught Enoch's attention about this. Unusual. How horribly inconvenient. 

"Enoch, leave." the Beast commanded, drawing his fur around himself as though to hide, and despite the fine sunshine pouring in through the high window, the barn went dark, leaving only his glowing eyes to be seen in the murk. 

There was silence, and then a click, and the door swung open. 

The sunlight did not penetrate the Beast's imposed gloom. 

"Are you truly ill, friend?" Enoch asked, ducking his great head to fit through the doorway and surging forward in a rush of coiled streamers. The Beast stepped back to keep the distance. 

Too close. Too close. Enoch was at eye-level with the mess of sticky hay and oil up in the loft, if he would only look to the side. The one damning bit of evidence of what he had been up to. 

"Leave me," the Beast repeated, and retreated to the back of the barn, keeping Enoch's eyes on him. "You know that creatures such as we cannot fall ill. Why are you here, Enoch?"

There was a long, heavy pause, and then Enoch made a shivery sound, pushing the door closed behind him. 

"Neighbor..." he began, and rolled his head to the side, glancing up at the mess in the hayloft and smiling. "I could feel you all the way in Pottsfield. I've never felt hunger like that. So cavernous...*empty*. I have plenty to give, Beast. Let me fill you." 

The Beast froze. Completely still, he stared up at Enoch, his eyes flaring like wildfire, trying to discern the trick that was being played on him. Enoch's usual teasing, he could handle, but this was more than a few steps too far. 

"Do not mock me, Lord of the Harvest." he snapped. The jig was definitely up. "You cannot humiliate me. Leave, now. You are testing my temper." 

The Beast tilted his head towards the door, glaring into Enoch's grinning face, and watched as the maypole sank low to the floor in a mess of tassels, sighing. 

"Now why would I want that? I'm being honest, Beast. You..." Another sigh. "You torture me. Do you know what that's like? To feel such a hungry soul, to long to reach out and fill it, to *feed* that hunger until it's not hungry anymore." 

As he spoke, Enoch curled a few ribbons together in mimicry of clasping ones hands, lowering his head. The Beast's eyes were wide. 

He was aching. Burning. Empty to the roots of his soul, and here was the god of plenty, locked up in a barn with him and insinuating things he wouldn't have dared to dream. It had to be a trick. An excuse to laugh at him. And yet...

Slowly, ever so slowly, the aggression bled out of the Beast and left him stranded, unsure, as Enoch beckoned to him, the harvest god's hope as ripe as his autumn apples. 

"Won't you let me?" 

 

The Beast was upon him before either of them could think. 

Claws curled around handfuls of ribbon, pulling Enoch close, and the Beast tugged the two of them together, frost eating away at the edges of the floorboards. 

"Do it." the Beast demanded, kneeling on the floor, without a real idea of what to do or how to do it, but desperate for the satisfaction that was all but promised to him. Enoch hummed a delighted little tune. 

"Oh, Beast, Beast, I was hoping you'd say that." he breathed, and coiled himself around the Beast with only the whisper of cornsilk on the floor, ribbons catching on splinters and grooves. The Beast struggled to relax. If things went wrong, he was certainly putting himself in a bit of a situation. 

"Easy, now," Enoch soothed, and propped himself up on yet more ribbons, a few straying to brush up and down his chest, to ruffle his fur.

"*Enoch*," Beast warned. His voice was cracking timber as he yanked the Harvest God's ribbons again, tension threatening to fray them in his impatience. Enoch only sang. 

"Mm! Now that's mean. Is this how you treat all your lovers?" 

Dead white eyes were beginning to bleed color. The Beast should have known that Enoch wouldn't take this seriously. He'd half a mind just to tear those ribbons of his right off, to rip the handfuls away and then leave entirely. Fortunately, the King of Plenty seemed to sense perfectly well that his neighbor was not in the mood for games today, and sighed the blooming scent of cinnamon, coiling a tendril into the fur at the crook of Beast's neck and and tugging lightly. 

"Hah. Hearing you loud and clear, neighbor," he laughed, and inclined his head, bumping his forehead against the Beast's affectionately. There was a soft ripping sound as his fabric caught on the prong of an antler, but he only quivered when he pulled away, tufts of hay spilling out of the tear and catching in oily fur. "Now, where do you like it? Or is that something you'd rather I find out for myself?" 

Enoch almost seemed to have quirked his eyebrows, despite having none whatsoever. 

The Beast tossed his head and scoffed. 

"Oh. I'm yours," he bit out, and leaned into Enoch's ribbons, sprawling out in a mockery of seduction. Enoch could do what he pleased, as far as the Beast cared, so long as it was *something*, because *he* certainly wasn't going to work for it. Enoch was on his own. 

That seemed to suit him just fine.

"Ooh. That does have a nice ring to it," Enoch teased. With eyes as blank and white as the Beast's own, it could be difficult to tell exactly where he was looking, but Enoch's head rolled slightly to the side, and his gaze was uncomfortably heavy as he followed a thick drop of oil running down the length of Beast's antler. His usual smile seemed to sting a bit more, in this situation. 

"Correct me if I'm wrong, but I can't seem to recall you ever being quite so slick, Beast." 

A single ribbon unwound itself from its place in the Beast's fur and brushed upwards, flicking against the lowest curve of an antler and catching an errant drop. The Beast creaked a low sigh. His only reply. 

"One would think you might need to be a little more careful with your precious oil, friend, but I suppose if you've got it to spare, it does make all this rough wood a little easier to handle," Enoch continued, and his ribbon went from brushing to coiling, wrapping loosely around the base of the antler, shuddering. Beast turned his eyes up towards Enoch's. His smile was as stiffly stitched as ever, but you don't go through a few thousand years of acquaintance with someone and not be able to recognize impatience when you see it.

And all this bravado. 

"Do you think I'm going to break?" the Beast asked suddenly, and Enoch's grin quirked to the side. 

"How's that?" 

Without warning, the Beast reached upward, ignoring the slight resistance of tangling streamers, and hooked his claw on the edge of the tear in Enoch's head. A slight flick of his hand pulled at the seams, snapping a few more threads, and Enoch went as rigid as someone made of fabric can, reflexively pulling against Beast's antler in surprise.

"Do not treat me as though I am the delicate one." the Beast continued, and pinched a tuft of hay out of the open 'wound', considering it for a moment before dropping it to the floor. Enoch gave a strange, warbling sound in reply and splayed his ribbons. 

"Message received," Enoch breathed. The Beast considered him for a moment before relaxing again, withdrawing his claw and curling his hand against his chest.

What a strange reaction a little clawing had gotten. Of course, he seldom got a reaction out of the Harvest King that made very much sense, but still...Enoch was a morbid, peculiar one at the core. It wouldn't surprise the Beast at all to find that he enjoyed a little sensual mutilation. 

He tucked that thought away for later. 

Returning once more to the present moment, the Beast laid back, relaxing in the tangle of ribbons as much as dead wood is able, giving the ribbon around his antler a few insistent tugs. That seemed to bring Enoch back as well. 

"Oh, my apologies! Now then, neighbor...am I to take that to mean you'd like it a little rough?" Enoch asked, good humor bouncing back unfailingly despite the good-sized gash in the side of his head. A fair few ribbons took it upon themselves to wrap around the Beast as he spoke, slowly coiling around ankles and wrists, and the Beast studied them blankly, hoping that he at least appeared unflappable as ever despite the uncomfortably shivery feeling that seemed to have taken over his insides. Like tiny beating wings.

Butterflies. 

Disgusting, really. 

"...Why don't you find out." the Beast replied crisply, and that was all he was going to say of it. How should he know how he liked it? Perhaps he wouldn't like it at all, and they could both just shake off this temporary insanity and he could go on quietly carrying a torch for Enoch for eternity. He thought he'd prefer that. 

And as Enoch's ribbons tightened, idly brushing up and down, the twisted multitude of souls that made up his body called him a liar, and strained towards the touch of satiation, each one trying in vain to claw its way to the surface. The Beast fought them down and kept himself blank. 

"Well! Do keep me posted then. I'd hate to do anything to hurt you." Enoch crooned, and the Beast let out a breathless bark of a laugh, letting his head fall back and a tendril stroke along his ruined chin. 

"Have you already forgotten? We may be in a barn, but we are in *my* Woods, and you are far from Pottsfield. You couldn't hurt me if you tried." 

There may have been a note of pride to his voice, but he was not bragging; it was simply a fact. The Woods were an extension of the Beast, more than anything else, and he'd yet to find anything living, dead, or otherwise that he could not freeze out in an emergency. Enoch didn't seem especially concerned. 

"I'm quaking, I'm sure," Enoch hummed, and shook out a few ribbons before returning them to his easy petting, carding a few through the Beast's matted fur, yet more still skating over frozen bark, tracing along the pits and grooves that marked the wood underneath. The Beast tried not to wiggle. "Say, friend," Enoch added as an afterthought, "At the risk of soundin' a little blunt, what's your opinion about *these?*" 

A single ribbon ran slowly around the edge of a hole on the Beast's side, one that bored deep into the wood but ultimately led to nothing important, and the Beast tipped his head heavily to the side, considering. 

"Elaborate." he prompted after a silent minute. They were holes. He had many of them. And they didn't really have any use. So he didn't think he had a particular opinion of them at all, really. Just an aesthetic touch. 

Enoch brought a free streamer up to rest his head on it thoughtfully, scrunching the fabric of his face in a manner that implied squinting. 

"Just wondering if you'd be ever so offended if I tried to see what all's inside, that's all." he answered cheerfully. The Beast blinked once, deliberately. 

"I don't care." 

What was inside was more wood, he was fairly sure, and as long as Enoch didn't get tangled in there somehow, he should be in and out and back to the task at hand in just a minute or two. The Beast waved a dismissive hand, and Enoch drew a tendril affectionately across his palm before hopping right to it and wriggling the full length of another tendril straight into the hole he'd been playing with no warning at all. 

That was pretty much to be expected. 

What was not expected was the bolt of white-hot sensation that lanced through the Beast as a result. It took him so off-guard that he froze completely, stiffening in place against the offending ribbon, alive with a feeling that screamed through him in such a way that it might have emptied his lungs, if he'd had any. The ribbon simply continued on. 

Beast tried to speak and choked on the words. 

"Enoch-" he finally managed, clawing rather aimlessly at the god bent over him. It felt as though he'd swallowed fire. "Out!" 

Obediently and instantly, the ribbon withdrew. 

"I thought you'd assured me I could do you no harm," Enoch fretted, waving two of his foremost feelers fussily over the Beast and thoroughly playing the part of concerned lover. What bull! Beast could feel the king's amusement washing over him like a tide. 

"You can't! You...didn't. ...You only surprised me." the Beast answered rather lamely. His body still buzzed with foreign sensation, and he was entirely unsure if he wanted to call this off completely or try that *again*. Every fur seemed suddenly a frozen needle, leaving him looking rather like a porcupine. Enoch's laughter was a sunbeam cracking ice.

"Surely." 

The Beast decided to just to ignore that for now. Rather than waste his energy and time bristling at the other god, he reached back up and knotted his hands into two fistfuls of streamers, yanking Enoch all but atop him, their faces inches apart. 

Enoch's expression remained as blankly cheerful as ever. 

"Do what you want. I have trees to tend, so let us get on with this," the Beast demanded, and twitched uncomfortably as a ribbon swept up underneath his fur and then down the curve of his side. 

"Oh, anything you say, Beastie." 

"Do NOT call me that." 

His complaint was politely and completely ignored. That maypole had some gall.

Thankfully, however, Enoch also seemed to have taken the Beast's prior demand to heart, and the Lord of the Wastes found himself in short time draped in streamers, which, in a faintly alarming manner, seemed to have suddenly become a bit stronger than he remembered. His head, which had been raised slightly to watch Enoch, was pulled firmly to the floor by his antlers. The Beast softly growled. 

Enoch loomed. 

"Ready?" he prompted, in a voice sunnier than the August days he reigned over. 

"Do it."

And so Enoch did. 

________________________________________

 

Oh, did he ever. 

The Beast was no mere mortal. He was no fleshed thing, with blood to pound hot or breath to catch. He would not lower himself to grasp at the Lord above him, nor to shudder or writhe below him. But he could not quite find it in himself to stay silent. 

There were too many ribbons in too many holes, and too suddenly, for him to stifle his harsh cry, an animal sound, nearly a scream. Was this pain? He did not feel pain. Or was it pleasure? He couldn't be sure. All he was really sure of was the burning, the brightness, and a maddening hunger entirely different but as equally excruciating as the one that drove him to feed. He was going out of his mind. 

"Alright there, dove?" Enoch asked, simply rippling satisfaction, and the Beast drank it down, choking on fulfillment, tearing out a handful of the Harvest King's tendrils in his scrabbling against the floorboards. Enoch groaned low, and then crooned with delight. "That's it, yes, you poor thing. You...you're *so* hungry."

Enoch couldn't know the half of it. 

"Touch me," the Beast snarled, and fought the urge to claw the invading ribbons out of himself, instead allowing them to twist and roil inside of him, drawing the most uncanny sounds from his hidden scream of a mouth. Enoch purred and sang to him sweetly, restful death's sweet satisfaction bubbling over into the endless, yawning void. He set a few extra ribbons to work on the Beast's poor neglected antlers, and was rewarded with a sigh that made the barn creak and an almost imperceptible gasp, like the first and last breath of a life. 

The Beast tried not to quiver, and narrowed those bright-burning eyes. 

"Enoch," the Woods around them thrummed, the Beast's voice bleeding just a little past the edges of the material plane. He was an inferno. He felt as though he were turning to ash from the inside out, or perhaps melting, his gaze scorching red and blue. Enoch gave him a decadent little moan. 

"If you could see yourself, Beast...oh! I want to give you- I'm going to give you *everything*." he breathed. 

And the Beast would have it. He would take everything Enoch was and drink him dry, swallow him up. Now that he'd had a taste, the Beast would never, ever be able to give him up.


End file.
